nd and appals my soul (whom, indeed,
should it not overwhelm and appal?) there is not a pamphlet of his
that I do not know intimately, almost by heart.'

'Including the paper on "Hamlet and Hamalet, and the wide region of
Nowhere"?'

'Including that and everything.'

'Did you know him, Mr. Wilderspin?'

'Not in the flesh; in the spirit, who knows him so well? Your mother
I have had the pleasure of meeting at the house of Lord Sleaford, and
indeed I have had the distinguished honour of painting her portrait;
but the great author of _The Veiled Queen_--the inspired designer of
the vignette symbolical of the Renascence of Wonder in Art--I never
had the rapture of seeing. This very day, the anniversary of his
birth,' he continued, 'is a great day in the Aylwinian calendar.'

'My father's birthday? Why, so it is!'

'Mr. Aylwin, is it possible that the anniversary of a day so
momentous for the world is forgotten--forgotten by the very issue of
the great man's loins?'

'The fact is,' said I, in some confusion, 'I have been living with
the Gypsies, and, you see, Mr. Wilderspin, the passage of time--'

'The son of Philip Aylwin a Gypsy!' murmured Wilderspin meditatively,
and unconscious evidently that he was speaking aloud--'a Gypsy! Still
it would surely be a mistake to suppose,' he continued, perfectly
oblivious now of my presence, 'that the vagaries of his son can
really bring shame upon the head of the father.'

'But, by God!' I cried, 'it is no mistake that the vagaries of the
father can bring shame and sorrow and misery upon the child. I could
name a couple of fathers--sleeping very close to each other
now--whose vagaries--'

My sudden anger was carrying me away; but I stopped, recollecting
myself.

'Doubtless,' said Wilderspin, 'there are fathers and fathers. The son
of Philip Aylwin has assuredly a right to be critical in regard to
all other fathers than his own.'

I looked in his face; the expression of solemn earnestness was quite
unmistakable.

'It is not you,' I said, 'it is Heaven, or else it is the blind
jester Circumstance, that is playing this joke upon me!'

'To your honoured father,' he continued, taking not the slightest
notice of my interjection, 'I owe everything. From his grave he
supports my soul; from his grave he gives me ideas; from his grave
he makes my fame. How should I fail to honour his son, even though
he--'

Of course he was going to add--'even though he be a vagabond
associ